Escaping The Billionaire's Deadly Surrogate Trap

The image of that blood was seared into her retinas until the hotel staff finally escorted her back to the Terrell estate. Hours later, the clock on her nightstand pointed to two in the morning.

Blaire pushed herself up from the mattress. She threw on a silk robe, tying the belt with trembling fingers. Her throat was parched; she needed to go downstairs to the kitchen for a glass of water.

She pushed open the heavy carved wooden door of her bedroom. The dim wall sconces in the hallway stretched her shadow long across the floor. The deathly silence of the enormous house sent a chill down her spine.

She walked barefoot across the cold white marble floor. She tried to make her footsteps completely silent, but her dry throat compelled her to continue toward the grand staircase.

She had just reached the first-floor landing when low voices drifted from the slightly ajar door of the study. The sound stopped her in her tracks.

Blaire wanted to turn back upstairs, but then she heard her own name, clear as day. A morbid curiosity seized her. She held her breath and crept closer to the gap in the door.

She pressed her back against the cold wall. Peeking through the narrow slit, she saw her foster mother, Clotilda, holding a glass of red wine. A smug, chilling smile hung on Clotilda's face.

Danita sat on the leather sofa, her voice thick with anxiety. "Mom, Kamryn won't even look at me. He walked right past me in the hallway today. You said the plan would work—"

Clotilda let out a dismissive snort. She patted her daughter's hand. "Patience. Once Blaire is carrying the Lane family's child, everything will proceed exactly according to plan. Kamryn will do his part—he thinks he got lucky, but he's just a pawn on our chessboard."

These words slammed into Blaire's chest like a sledgehammer. She clamped both hands over her mouth, pushing the scream back down her throat.

Danita leaned forward, her voice dropping lower, tinged with a cruel excitement. "And after the baby is born? What do we do with her then?"

Clotilda took a slow sip of her wine. "Stage an accident. A car crash, or a fall down the stairs—whatever you prefer. Then, drain her blood and transplant her healthy heart into your chest. The Terrell medical team has been ready for a long time."

The horrifying truth crashed down on her. A living organ bank. A surrogate vessel. The realization shattered her entire reality. A wave of intense nausea rose in her stomach, making her knees go weak.

She thought of the strange-tasting champagne at last night's charity gala. All the recent warmth and smiles from her foster family had been a deadly trap, designed solely to deliver her into Kamryn's bed.

Her body began to tremble uncontrollably with sheer terror. She stumbled backward, and her heel caught the edge of a tall porcelain flowerpot in the hallway.

The pot scraped against the marble floor, letting out a dull, harsh screech. The voices in the study stopped immediately.

"Who's out there?" Clotilda's sharp, suspicious voice pierced through the wooden door.

Blaire's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. She looked around frantically for a place to hide, but the long hallway was empty. There was nowhere to run.

The brass doorknob of the study began to turn. In that moment of absolute panic, a strong arm reached out of the darkness, and a large hand clamped over her mouth.

Blaire struggled wildly, but the force yanked her into the unlit storage room next to the study. The door clicked shut behind them, soundlessly.

"Don't make a sound." A low voice vibrated against her eardrum.

The study door opened. Clotilda poked her head out, scanning the empty hallway. "Strange... I definitely heard something." She muttered something about the night wind and closed the door again.

In the pitch-black storage room, Blaire's back was pressed against a chest hard as rock. The scent of rich cedarwood mixed with raw male hormones invaded her senses. Her body went completely rigid.

Calhoun Terrell's deep, raspy voice rumbled in her ear. "What are you doing sneaking around outside the study in the middle of the night?"

Blaire pushed hard against his chest. The faint moonlight filtering through the high window illuminated her foster brother's face. His sunken eyes stared at her, filled with dangerous calculation.

To hide the terrible secret she had just learned, Blaire dug her nails deep into her palms. She used the sharp pain to keep herself alert. She forced the muscles of her face into a pale, weak smile.

"I... I had a nightmare," she said, letting her voice tremble just enough to be convincing. "I came down for water, and I got lost in the dark. I didn't hear anything, Cal—I just want to go back to my room..."

Calhoun stepped forward, trapping her against the shelves. There was no gentle touch. He shot out his hand, clamping his thumb and forefinger around her jaw with enough force to nearly crush it, an undeniable authority in the grip. He forced her head up, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized her pale face like a stern warden examining a disobedient prisoner.

"A nightmare?" His voice held no warmth. "Your hands are shaking, Blaire. What are you afraid of?"

Blaire fought the urge to flinch. She met his gaze, forcing her eyes to look wide, innocent, and dependent on her brother. "I'm just... scared from the dream. Please, Calhoun, let me go back to sleep."

A long silence. His gaze scraped across her face like a blade.

Finally, with a flick of his wrist, he released her jaw abruptly, seemingly accepting her explanation.

He shrugged off his cashmere coat and draped it over her thin robe. "Put this on. Don't freeze to death. Mother still has uses for you tomorrow." His tone returned to its usual harsh coldness. "Go back to your room immediately. If I see you wandering the halls again—"

"You won't," Blaire whispered. "I promise."

A wave of immense relief washed over Blaire. She pulled the coat tight around herself, the fabric still holding his body heat. Keeping her head down, she hurried past him and fled the storage room.

Back in her bedroom, Blaire locked the door and leaned against the wood. She slid down to sit on the floor, gasping for air as if she had just struggled out of water.

She bit down hard on the back of her hand to keep herself from crying out loud. The pure terror in her eyes slowly congealed into a desperate, burning will to survive.

"They're going to slaughter me like livestock..." she whispered to the empty room, her voice hoarse and broken. "But I won't let them. Never."

She couldn't wait to be killed. She needed to make money and escape, and first thing in the morning, she needed to buy the morning-after pill—to sabotage their surrogacy plan.